


Wayward Son

by alyb123



Category: The Blacklist (TV)
Genre: Angst, Backstory, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family, Gen, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-28
Updated: 2017-09-17
Packaged: 2018-11-19 23:58:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11324412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alyb123/pseuds/alyb123
Summary: Donald Ressler pays a long overdue visit home to his family as he attempts to make peace with Laurel Hitchin's death. Ressler struggles with deciding what his next steps will be, including whether to tell Liz and the Task Force the truth, as he rediscovers the importance of family and learns that his father's past may be more complicated than he thought. Ressler backstory.





	1. Chapter 1

_National Security Advisor Laurel Hitchin killed in fiery car wreck_. Donald Ressler watched as the breaking news banner scrolled slowly along the bottom of his television screen as images of a burning car on the interstate flashed alongside pictures of Hitchin's face. _So that's how Prescott did it,_ he thought. He reached for the remote and turned off the TV and then walked into the kitchen and dumped his suddenly bitter-tasting cup of coffee into the sink. He hadn't slept much and the caffeine was making his already jangled nerves feel even worse. His stomach was in knots so food was out of the question entirely. _So he_ _made it look like an accident. Or tried to anyway_. _But will it work?_

He wiped his sweaty palms against his jeans and glanced at his watch. It was nearly 8 a.m. He shrugged into his jacket and grabbed his keys and his badge from the table by the door when he had tossed them unceremoniously the night before. He fingered the badge for a moment before shoving it into his pocket. _Special Agent Donald Ressler. But for how much longer?_

He drummed his fingers nervously on the steering wheel as he drove. Part of him had never expected to make it to morning without the cops banging down his door. He'd laid awake most of the night replaying the scene with Hitchin over and over again in his mind, tossing and turning as he'd raced through all the what-ifs. At some point, exhaustion must have taken over because the next thing he knew, he was jolted awake by his alarm. He'd mindlessly forced himself through the routine of showering and shaving and somewhere in the middle of all he'd realized that there was no going back to normal. Not yet, anyway. Maybe not ever. And as he'd stared at his sunken eyes in the mirror, he'd realized exactly what he needed to do.

* * *

Twenty minutes later, he strode into the Post Office and took the stairs two at a time up to Cooper's office.

"You hear the news?" Cooper asked, gesturing towards the TV where ongoing coverage of Laurel Hitchin's sudden demise continued to dominate.

"Yeah," Ressler replied brusquely. Cooper stared at him for a moment and Ressler felt his heart rate begin to quicken.

"She give you your badge back? I'm sorry she insisted on returning it to you personally. I really didn't have much choice." Cooper rubbed a hand across his forehead wearily.

"Yeah, she did, last night," Ressler replied, forcing himself to keep his tone even. He glanced up at the TV. "Wish I could say I was sorry to hear about the accident, but I'm not."

Cooper nodded. "That's understandable after everything that happened. Karma has a funny way of working, doesn't it?"

Ressler swallowed hard before responding. "Yeah," he said again.

"Something on your mind, Don?" Cooper asked with a frown.

Ressler exhaled. "Actually yes there is, sir. I know I just got my badge back but I'd like to take some personal leave before I return to active duty. Go home, see my family. My brother had surgery a couple months ago and I couldn't get away then. Seems like now might be a good time before things heat up again."

Cooper leaned back in his chair and pressed his hands together. "Of course, take whatever time you need," he said with a sympathetic smile. "I know you've been through a lot lately and I'm sure things won't be picking up around here just yet with Reddington still recovering from the Kaplan situation."

"Thank you, sir," Ressler replied as he got up to leave.

"You sure there's nothing else on your mind?" Cooper asked. "You seem a little...off."

Ressler paused, his hand on the doorknob. His heart was beginning to hammer in his chest again. "No sir," he replied carefully without meeting Cooper's eyes. "Nothing else."

"Very well," Cooper replied. "Have a good trip."

"Thank you, sir," Ressler replied as he headed quickly for the stairs. He hoped to make it to the elevator without running into anyone else.

Unfortunately, Samar was passing just as he reached the bottom of the stairs.

"You hear about Hitchin?" she asked as she took in his still-casual appearance.

"Yeah," Ressler replied shortly. _I'm becoming the king of one-word answers_ , he thought.

"Well, it sounds like a horrible way to go but the world's probably better off," Samar continued.

Ressler shoved his hands in his pockets and fidgeted nervously. "Yeah," he repeated again. "Look, I just spoke to Cooper. I'm gonna take a few days off while things are quiet. Finally go home and see my family."

"In Michigan?" Samar asked, surprised. Ressler nodded. "That's good," she continued. "Your brother is still doing well after the surgery?"

Ressler nodded again, not fully trusting himself to speak. "Yeah," he managed. "He's doing much better. Look - tell Keen and Aram what's going on, ok? I'll see you guys next week."

"You can tell her yourself - she's right there," Samar replied gesturing towards the elevator where Liz had just stepped off.

"Tell me what?" Liz asked as she approached them.

Ressler groaned inwardly. He'd hoped to make his escape without having to face Liz. Of all of them, she was the one most likely to pick up that something was wrong and he wasn't quite ready to tell her yet. He wasn't sure he ever would be.

"Ressler's taking some time off, going home for a few days," Samar answered for him.

Liz raised an eyebrow. "Good for you," she said. "Before you go, though - do you have a minute?"

Ressler clenched his hands inside his pockets. _So much for a quick escape_ , he thought miserably. He glanced at his watch. "Sure, I don't have long, though. I gotta go home and get squared away for my flight." _The flight I haven't even booked yet_ , he reminded himself.

Liz nodded. "Walk with me," she said as she gestured towards their shared office.

"Have a good trip!" Samar called after him as she headed over to confer with Aram at his workstation.

Ressler followed Liz silently into their office and watched, arms folded, as she removed her jacket, closed the door, and sat down in her chair. He opted to remain standing and lean against a file cabinet in lieu of settling in at his own desk.

"You ok?" she asked. Her eyes scanned him up and down.

Ressler's heart began to hammer in his chest again. _Dammit, he thought. Does she know? How would she know?_ He shifted uncomfortably and looked away.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Why?" he replied carefully, staring intently at a spot on her desk.

"I saw the news about Hitchin. Wondered how you were feeling about that," Liz said quietly.

Ressler snorted. "How I feel? How am I _supposed_ to feel, Liz. You tell me," he snapped.

Liz sighed. "Look, I don't mean to make you uncomfortable I just know how...difficult it was for you to give up on bringing her in. Now she's dead and the world's never going to know the truth about what she was. You must feel something about that."

Ressler clenched his jaw and stood up straight. _Damn straight I feel something_ , he thought. _If you only knew._ "Yeah, I'm angry things happened as they did. Am I relieved she's gone? Is that what you want me to say? Sure part of me is glad she'll never walk this earth again. But I'd still rather have seen her rot in a jail cell than end up in the morgue." He started to move towards the door.

"Ressler, wait," Liz said softly as she grabbed his sleeve. He flinched at her touch and then froze, terrified his face would give him away. He forced himself to remain still and not to shake her off.

"I'm not trying to pry," Liz said gently. "I just want you to know that I'm sorry things happened as they did and if you want to talk about it, I'm here. I hope you have a good trip home to see your family."

Ressler couldn't meet her gaze. "Thanks," he replied tightly. She let go of his sleeve and he strode out of their office without a backwards glance.

Back in the car, he closed his eyes and tried to breathe deeply until the hammering in his chest subsided somewhat. He'd known it would be difficult to face his colleagues. Hell, he could hardly face himself. He shuddered at the memory of Hitchin's fingers gripping his arm. Liz's well-meaning touch had brought it all flooding back. Part of him had wanted to confess to her, or to Cooper, or to Samar even. He'd wrestled with the idea of it all night. But he couldn't put that burden on them and expect them not to report him. No, this was something he was going to have to manage on his own. He clenched the wheel tightly and pulled out of the parking garage and headed back home to pack his things.

* * *

Two hours later, Ressler sat at the gate at Dulles Airport, tapping his foot anxiously as he waited to board his flight to Detroit. He'd paid an exorbitant amount for the last-minute ticket, but he'd been unwilling to lie and pretend it was for a funeral or some other sympathetic purpose. His mother had been surprised but pleased to hear from him when he'd called to let her know he was coming. A break between cases, he'd told her. Unexpected down time. He hadn't been home in a long time. _Too long_. _But better late than never_. He couldn't help but feel like he was a fugitive on the run.

He cast a grim eye at the TV in the corner of the airport lounge which seemed to carry an endless parade of talking heads speculating over who would replace Laurel Hitchin as National Security Advisor. He'd wondered if Prescott would simply make her disappear, but upon reflection, of course it made more sense to make it look like her death happened some other way. It was bad enough for someone like Diane Fowler or Reven Wright to just up and disappear but Hitchin was a member of the President's Cabinet and her absence had to explained. Ressler wondered how Prescott had gotten Laurel and her car to the interstate, much less staged an accident with a fuel tanker outside the view of all of the traffic cameras. _Better not to know,_ he thought. Maybe the medical examiner would discover the truth, despite the force of the accident and resulting inferno, but so far none of the coverage had hinted at foul play.

"Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen," a pleasant voice floated over the intercom, "at this time we are ready to begin boarding Flight 276 to Detroit." With a final look at the TV, Ressler glanced at the row number on his boarding pass and made his way to the ramp.


	2. Chapter 2

The air was noticeably cooler when Ressler stepped out of the airport in Michigan three hours later and he shivered slightly and pulled his jacket closer around him as he made his way to the rental car desk. His mother had offered to pick him up, but he'd assured her it wasn't necessary. He wanted his own car in order to be able to get around. He signed an agreement for a basic no frills sedan and tossed his bag on the passenger seat to begin the nearly hour long drive home.

_Home_. No matter how many years he'd been gone, Michigan would always be home. Gradually, the urban congestion of the area surrounding the airport gave way to pockets of suburban houses and eventually open fields. His father had tried to keep their lives as separate as he could from the streets of Detroit and had chosen a long commute to work over exposing his children to the perils of urban life. Though he lived in the city now, Ressler still felt more comfortable among the fields and farms of the open countryside than he did in the city and he felt his tension gradually begin to ebb as the buildings became fewer and farther apart.

Finally, he pulled up in front of a tidy white frame house with a wide porch and black shutters on the window. He turned off the engine and sat in the car for a moment staring at the house. A tire swing still hung from one of the trees on the side of the house and it moved gently in the breeze. He got out of the car and grabbed his duffel bag from the trunk. He hadn't packed much. He wasn't planning on staying for long. Before he even started up the porch steps, the door of the house swung open and a blur of joyously barking golden fur hurled itself at him. Ressler dropped his bag and knelt down to greet the dog who was frantically attempting to lick every inch of his face.

"Hey Roscoe, easy boy," he murmured as he struggled to extract himself from the dog's wild affection. Ressler looked up to see his mother beaming in the doorway. Margaret Ressler - Meg to anyone who knew her well - had once been blonde but her hair had greyed considerably over the years and even more so since he'd seen her last. He patted the dog, got up and dusted himself off and then took the steps two at a time and allowed her to pull him in for a hug. She felt smaller and more fragile than he remembered. He stepped back and she took his hands and smiled at him.

"It's so good to have you home, honey," she said warmly.

Ressler returned the smile and hoped it didn't look forced. "It's good to be home, mom," he said. He let go of her hands to grab his discarded bag and then followed her and Roscoe into the house. He breathed deeply as he stepped inside. _Still smells the same_ , he thought. A mixture of cinnamon and a faint floral scent combined with a hint of lemon furniture polish.

"Did you eat? Can I get you something to drink?" his mother asked as he followed her into the kitchen.

"I'm good. Just some water, thanks," he murmured as he hung his jacket on one of the pegs by the back door and then settled himself into a chair at the kitchen table. He ran his hand absently over the smooth wood of the tabletop that had been the scene of so many good and bad family moments. Roscoe settled down at his knee and Ressler scratched his head absently.

His mother set a glass of water down in front of him and then, with a glance, reached into the cabinet for a plate and pushed the plate and a metal cookie tin towards him.

"What's this?" he asked, bemused.

Meg smiled sheepishly. "Well, when you told me you were coming..."

Ressler chuckled. "You shouldn't have gone to the trouble, mom," he said. But suddenly he was hungry for the first time in nearly a day and he pulled off the lid and eagerly surveyed the contents of the tin.

His mother settled into the chair opposite him. "It was such a lovely surprise to hear you were coming. How long can you stay?" she asked. Her blue green eyes, the same shade as his own, were soft but eager.

Ressler shrugged. "Don't know. A few days, I hope." _As long as the U.S. Marshals don't come calling for me_ , he thought and he swallowed hard as a bite of cookie lodged in his throat.

"I told Pete and Amy we'd have dinner with them tomorrow," his mother continued. "I thought you might be too tired tonight, that you might just want to rest."

"Sounds good," Ressler replied.

For the next hour, Ressler sat back and mostly listened as his mother updated him on the family news of his brother's health, his kids and other local friends. He was grateful for her stories. They took his mind off Laurel Hitchin and didn't require him to say much.

"So enough about us," Meg concluded. "What's going on with you? Sounds like you've been working so hard." Ressler groaned inwardly. He wasn't in the mood to discuss his own personal life, or lack thereof. Just then he heard the sound of a car door slamming outside. His mother looked at him anxiously. "Oh, that must be Ed. He said he'd try to get home early when he heard you were coming."

Ressler nodded and exhaled. He had no love lost for his stepfather and they'd had many bruising arguments during Ressler's college years when his stepfather's alcoholism caused him to lash out at both Ressler and his mother. But his mother insisted Ed had been sober for years and Ressler wasn't interested in picking a fight with the man at this point unless he gave him a reason. Moments later, they heard the sound of boots at the back door and Ressler stood up to greet his stepfather who, like his mother, had noticeably aged since he'd seen him last.

They shook hands firmly as each sized the other up. "Good to see you, Don," his stepfather said gruffly. "Work treating you well?"

Ressler shrugged. "It keeps me busy," he replied.

"Well, your mom was real pleased to hear they were finally letting you take a few days off," Ed continued. "Been a long time, it seems."

"Yeah. Past year's been a little crazy, I guess," Ressler replied evenly.

"Whatever happened to that partner of yours? Keen?" His stepfather continued, "I feel like she was in the news again recently."

"She got pardoned by the President, Ed, remember?" Meg answered softly while Ressler clenched and unclenched his hand tightly at his side. Ed had a knack for making him feel irritated within minutes of starting any conversation. One of the main reasons he rarely came home anymore.

"Does she still work with you, honey?" Meg asked.

Ressler swallowed hard and nodded. He didn't really want to talk about Liz or work. "Yeah, she's back on the team," he said shortly.

His stepfather shook his head. "Crazy how that lady can get a Presidential pardon and reinstated as an FBI agent after murdering the Attorney General. She must really know somebody or be sleeping with somebody. Or maybe she really is a Russian sleeper agent like they said on the news. You know, they say this President has ties to Russia. You best be careful working with someone like that. She could get you in real trouble."

Ressler pursed his lips and glanced at his mother who gazed at him helplessly. She was never willing to stand up Ed. He clenched his hand at his side again.

"Look, if it's ok with you, I think I'm gonna go upstairs and unpack, get cleaned up before dinner," Ressler said tightly. He'd learned from experience that the only way to avoid arguing with Ed was to avoid Ed altogether. Ressler looked at his mother imploringly, willing her to back him up.

"Of course, sweetheart," his mother said quickly. "I've kept you down here talking all this time and you must be so tired from your trip. I put sheets on the bed in your room this morning. Go relax and I'll call you when dinner's ready."

Ressler gratefully escaped the kitchen and headed back into the living room and grabbed his bag from where he had dropped it by the front door. He made his way slowly up the creaking wooden stairs to the upstairs hall and turned the knob on the door at the end of the hall to reveal his boyhood room.

Nothing much had changed in the room in the more than fifteen years since he had moved out for good. The same red and blue plaid comforter still covered the bed and the shelves on the wall were lined with his baseball and hockey trophies. He paused at the desk and picked up a framed photo of his father crouched down with three smiling boys in front of him. Pete, their oldest brother Jack, and himself. Ressler put the photo down and sat down on the bed and removed his shoes. He stretched out on top of the covers and put his arms behind his head. He could hear the low murmur of Ed and his mother talking below as his mother moved around the kitchen preparing dinner.

_Maybe it was a mistake to come here_ , he thought. _I shouldn't have involved them_. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and realized it was still on airplane mode from the flight. With some trepidation, he turned the signal back on and waited for the onslaught of messages. Surprisingly, there were few and nothing significant. He turned the ringer to silent and put the phone face down on the bedside table. He closed his eyes and tried to relax.

* * *

He woke up to the sound of gentle tapping on the door.

"Don?" his mother called tentatively.

He blinked rapidly. The room was nearly dark and he caught the pleasant whiff of what smelled like a roast coming from downstairs. The door opened slowly and his mother's face peeked around the edge.

"I'm sorry to wake you, honey, but dinner's ready if you're up to it" she said apologetically.

Ressler brushed his hand across his eyes. "Yeah, give me a second," he replied groggily. "I'll be right down."

"Take your time, no rush," Meg said as she closed the door gently behind her.

Ressler sat up slowly and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. He glanced at his phone. He'd been asleep for nearly two hours and his head felt foggy. He probably would have slept straight through until morning if his mother hadn't woken him. He got up and opened the door and blinked at the bright light before making his way to the bathroom at the opposite end of the hall.

Like his room, the bathroom was unchanged from his memory. He glanced at his reflection in the mirror over the simple pedestal sink and was greeted with dark circles under his eyes and hair slightly rumpled from sleep. He splashed some cold water on his face in an effort to remove the fog of sleep and then headed downstairs to dinner.

Ed and his mother were waiting for him at the kitchen table and Ressler couldn't help but notice the look of irritation on Ed's face coupled with the look of anxiety on his mother's face. Clearly Ed wasn't pleased it had taken him time to come down.

"Sorry to keep you waiting," Ressler mumbled as he settled himself into a chair.

Ed simply grunted before announcing "let's say grace." Ressler closed his eyes and bowed his head and willed himself to survive the meal without saying something he'd later regret to his stepfather.

They talked little during dinner, much to Ressler's relief. His mother had prepared the roast and some potatoes and a fresh salad and he was surprised to find that he was actually hungry. His mother's cooking was certainly a vast improvement over the takeout fare that was his dinner most nights. After dinner, Ed disappeared quickly into the adjacent room where he turned on the television. Ressler helped his mother clear the table and load the dishwasher.

"Don't let Ed get to you," she whispered as they worked. "It means so much to me that you came." She squeezed his arm as she moved around him to grab the empty pans from the stove.

Ressler leaned against the sink and folded his arms. "I'll try not to," he replied in a low voice. "And I'm really sorry it's taken me so long to come home."

"I just worry about you being so busy all the time," his mother replied as she wiped the crumbs off the table. "How do you have any time for a personal life? Are you seeing anyone?" she asked hopefully.

Ressler sighed. "No, mom. I don't really have time."

His mother bit her lip in a way that reminded Ressler of his own habit. "I just worry about you being lonely, sweetheart. You work so hard and it's been years now since..." Her voice trailed off but Ressler knew what she had meant to say. _It's been years since Audrey died._ "You need someone to come home to at the end of the day," she added quickly.

_Yeah, tell me about it_ , Ressler thought bitterly. "Just haven't met the right person, mom, relax," he replied in what he hoped was a light tone.

His mother smiled at him sadly. Clearly she wasn't buying it. "I'm your mother, I'm allowed to worry," she said firmly and Ressler couldn't help but chuckle.

"Hey, Pete's given you grandchildren to spoil so you've got nothing to complain about," he said and to his relief, his mother's face immediately brightened as she launched into another story of his niece's and nephews' escapades.

When the cleanup was finished, Ressler moved to the doorway of the den where Ed was watching TV. Ed glanced up when he saw him.

"I saw the news before. That National Security lady who died? Isn't she the same one who was singing your praises on national TV last year?"

Ressler forced his face to remain expressionless. "Yeah. She was a real nasty woman though. I'm not gonna miss her," he said.

Ed stared at him for a second and then burst out laughing. "Oh, it's good to hear you haven't gone all Washington on us yet, Don. Good for you." Ed gestured toward the couch. "You wanna sit?"

Ressler shook his head. "Nah, I think I'm just gonna read for a while and then go to bed. I'm still pretty wiped. Goodnight." Ed nodded curtly and Ressler turned back to the kitchen.

Meg smiled at him sympathetically. "You get a good night's sleep so you can enjoy yourself tomorrow, ok?" Ressler nodded and hugged her gently.

"Will do, goodnight mom."

* * *

Alone in his room again, he changed into a t-shirt and sweatpants and then reached again for the framed photo of his father, his brothers and himself from the desk. He smiled faintly as he looked at it. He remembered the day well. His father had taken the day off and surprised them all with a fishing trip to a nearby lake. They'd fished for a while, caught little, and then abandoned the fishing in favor of swimming. He was the youngest and easiest to throw and he'd made his father do it over and over and over again while Jack and Pete had circled around them like sharks. At the end of it all, they'd dried off in the sun and his mother had snapped the photo. The perfect picture of the perfect day. He reached out and touched Jack's face with his finger before placing the photo carefully back on the desk. It still hurt to think about him.

Ressler scanned the bookcase. The books brought back memories of his high school years. The Hobbit. The Grapes of Wrath. A Separate Peace. Many books devoured on the porch swing in the fading summer twilight at the end of a long day of sports and chores. He'd always enjoyed reading but somehow found himself doing less and less of it. The more he read for work, the less interest he had in reading for pleasure. He fingered the worn pages of The Hobbit. _Maybe I should get back into it_ , he thought.

He replaced the book back on the shelf and turned off the light.


	3. Chapter 3

Ressler jolted awake, his heart pounding, his body covered in sweat. It took him a moment to remember where he was but gradually his eyes adjusted to the dark and the familiar shapes of the furniture in his boyhood room. He sat up in bed and reached for his phone on the bedside table. It was a little after 3 am.

He groaned and lay back down and closed his eyes. Vague snippets of the nightmare remained in his consciousness. Hitchin's face. The blood. He rubbed his arm to try to rid himself of the memory of her unwelcome touch. He forced himself to breathe deeply in an effort to restore his heart to a normal rhythm. Gradually, the pounding in his chest slowed but he realized that he wasn't going to be able to fall back asleep anytime soon.

He got up and opened the door slowly and glanced down the hall towards the bathroom. He hesitated for a moment, realizing that the bathroom was right next to the room that his mother and Ed shared. He knew his mother was a light sleeper and he was loathe to wake her. He turned instead and crept as quietly as he could down the stairs and made use of the downstairs bathroom. He emerged to find Roscoe sitting outside the door waiting for him.

"What are you doing here?" he whispered to the dog as he bent down and scratched his ears. "C'mon," Ressler sighed as he headed into the kitchen. He poured himself a glass of water and then glanced at the dog who was watching him eagerly, his tail swishing from side to side across the linoleum floor. "Let me see what we've got," he murmured as he scanned the fridge for something to give the dog. He found a plate of leftover roast and quickly broke off a small piece, which Roscoe accepted eagerly. Ressler took his water and sat down at the kitchen table and stared absently into the darkness. Roscoe lay down with a grunt at his feet. The house was silent except for the gentle ticking of the living room clock and Roscoe's breathing. After a while, he heard a noise and he looked up to see his mother standing in the doorway in her bathrobe, watching him.

"I'm sorry, mom, I didn't mean to wake you," he said apologetically as Roscoe scrambled to his feet and went over to greet Meg.

"You didn't," Meg replied. "I was already awake and I heard you go downstairs. When you didn't come back up right away, I thought I'd come down and make sure everything was ok."

"I'm fine, mom," Ressler replied with a sigh. "Just needed the bathroom and a drink of water. Go back to bed."

His mother crossed the room and smoothed his hair and then gently ran her hand up and down his back.

"Nightmare?" she asked quietly.

Ressler glanced at her. She always could read him like a book. "How'd you know?"

Meg smiled and settled into the chair opposite him. "I'm your mother, honey, and I was also the wife of a police officer for more than twenty-five years. Sometimes your dad brought work home with him too. And I can tell something's bothering you."

Ressler hung his head. He wished he could just tell her all of it and unburden himself. But he couldn't. Or shouldn't, anyway.

"You're right, it's work stuff. I can't talk about it though. I wish I could," he replied. _I really wish I could_ , he thought.

His mother covered his hands with hers and squeezed them gently. "Well, if you change your mind, I'm happy to listen. In the middle of the night or any other time."

"Thanks, mom," Ressler replied and he fought back against a lump in his throat as his mother got up and embraced him tightly.

"Now go back to bed, you need your rest," his mother said firmly.

"Yes, ma'am," Ressler replied as he let her push him gently towards the stairs.

Alone in his room once more, he stood at the window and stared out at the moonlight on the lawn. He'd almost forgotten how peaceful it was here. Life just moved at a slower pace. He heard a scratching at the door and opened it to find Roscoe standing in front of him.

"I don't have any more food for you," Ressler told the dog in what he hoped was a stern tone. Roscoe pushed past him into the room and sat down next to the bed and looked at him expectantly. Ressler glared at him for a moment, arms folded, and then sighed. "I guess you can stay," he relented as he closed the door and stretched back out on the bed. A moment later, Roscoe jumped up next to him and nudged Ressler's legs to the side until he created a large enough niche for himself against them. Ressler extended his hand and Roscoe licked his fingers gently. Ressler closed his eyes and tried to focus on nothing more than the warmth of the dog.

* * *

The sound of a rooster crowing in the distance awakened him again at daybreak. Roscoe stretched and yawned as Ressler got up and slipped into running shorts and shoes. "You coming?" he asked the dog from the doorway. Roscoe needed no urging as he followed Ressler eagerly down the stairs and out onto the porch. Ressler stretched in the cool morning air as Roscoe did his business in the corner of the yard and then jumped down off the porch and headed down the driveway towards the road with the dog trotting happily at his side. The road was familiar, despite his long absence, and as he passed the farms and fields of his youth, he welcomed the sight of each one like an old friend.

He ran even farther than he intended as he enjoyed the open countryside and by the time he returned to the house his leg muscles were protesting and his sides were heaving. Ed's car was gone, to his relief, and as he walked into the house he gratefully inhaled the scent of bacon coming from the kitchen. Roscoe darted ahead of him, panting hard from the exercise.

"Hey mom," he said as he stepped into the kitchen.

"You have a good run?" His mother asked as she took in his sweaty appearance.

Ressler nodded. "Yeah, I need a shower though. Be down in a few."

"That's fine," his mother replied. "You want eggs?"

"Sure," he replied. It was a treat having someone cook for him. He was so accustomed to fending for himself.

Fifteen minutes later, he was showered and shaved and he gratefully accepted a cup of steaming hot coffee along with the eggs and bacon.

"This is great, mom, thank you," he said as he patted his stomach after breakfast. "I don't get this treatment in DC."

His mother smiled warmly. "That's because you live alone. What are your plans for the day?"

Ressler swallowed hard. _Here we go_ , he thought. "I, uh, thought I'd head out for a while. Maybe stop at the cemetery." He tried to sound as casual as possible even though he felt anything but.

"You want company?" Meg asked, her expression unreadable.

Ressler swallowed hard again. "No - I, uh, I think I'm gonna go alone if that's ok" he replied nervously.

"Of course it's ok," his mother reassured him. "I thought you'd probably prefer that. Let me give you some food for the flowers I planted. They could probably use a boost." She disappeared into the adjacent mud room and returned with a box of plant food. She mixed a little into a bottle of water and passed it to him. "Just sprinkle it over them."

Ressler nodded and grabbed the bottle and his keys. "Be back soon," he said as he headed for the door.

"No rush," Meg replied. "We're not due at Pete and Amy's until dinner time so take as long as you like."

Ressler paused and then turned back and kissed his mother lightly on the cheek. "Thank you," he said softly.

* * *

A short while later, Ressler drove through the open gates of the cemetery. He parked the car as close as he could to his intended destination and then set off on foot across the grass. He was grateful to see that the cemetery was deserted. The last thing he wanted was an audience.

He reached his brother's grave first and stood for a moment, head bowed. "John Paul Ressler, Jr.," the inscription read. "Beloved son." _Jack_. Jack had been like a hero to him growing up. The best athlete of the three of them, smart and sassy. Jack had joined the marines right out of high school. It was all he'd ever wanted to do. After 9/11 he was sent to Iraq. He made it through one tour unscathed but on the second, an IED on the side of the road took out the convoy he was riding in. Ressler crouched down and gently brushed some dirt off the top of the simple white stone and sprinkled some of his mother's plant food over the red and white begonias she had planted.

When he was finished, he stood up and took a deep breath and moved to the next row of stones. Just behind Jack's grave - nearly back to back - the familiar inscription read "John Paul Ressler, Beloved husband and father." Ressler carefully sprinkled the rest of the plant food over the matching flowers on his father's grave and then took a step back and stared at the stone wordlessly.

Somewhere during that long, restless night following Hitchin's death, he'd gotten out of bed and wandered into his living room. The carefully folded flag on his bookcase from his father's funeral had immediately caught his eye and he'd imagined this moment, standing in front of his father's grave, making his confession, seeking whatever absolution he could find. But now that he was here he didn't know where to begin.

Ressler glanced around, reassuring himself that the cemetery was empty of any living human except himself. He sat down on the slightly damp grass in front of the grave and ran his finger lightly over the words on the stone's face. He sat quietly for a long while, his mind registering little beyond the smell of freshly mowed grass, the gentle breeze, and the sound of birds calling as they flew from tree to tree. He picked at the blades of grass in front of the stone absently with his fingers, breaking them into little tiny pieces.

Finally, he took a deep breath. "Dad, you're the only one I can talk to about this," he began haltingly. He hung his head and felt a lump begin to grow in his throat. "I killed someone, Dad. I didn't mean to and I can't tell you she didn't deserve it, but it shouldn't have happened and instead of taking responsibility, I covered it up. I covered it up, Dad." Ressler blinked rapidly as the tears he had been fighting began to pool in his eyes. "I covered it up and I ran like a coward. Everything you always told me not to do. But I felt like I had no choice. The system's rigged and if I'd called it in, I would've never had a chance. I would've spent the rest of my life in prison. And I couldn't do that, not for her. Not for that...bitch." He paused and blinked rapidly. "And now I gotta live with it and I'm not sure how I'm supposed to do that." Ressler bowed his head and let the tears flow freely.

Eventually, he continued. "This job, this Task Force I'm on, we do good work. We do. But I'm scared, Dad. I always wanted to play by the rules and do the right thing. Just like you taught me. But the more I see, the more I see the rules don't benefit people like you and me. They benefit criminals and corporations and the corrupt people in the government. And I don't know what to do about that. I want to fight the corruption. I want to end it. But then I look around and I feel like I'm becoming a criminal instead of a cop in order to do that. I wish you were here, Dad. I wish you were here to give me advice." Ressler bowed his head again and his shoulders shook with emotion.

Over the next hour, Ressler continued talking. He talked about the bodies Kaplan had unearthed, about Tanida and Jonica and Audrey, about Liz and Samar and about Reddington and finally about Hitchin and how filthy she had made him feel. By the end of it he felt emotionally spent.

"I'm sorry, Dad. I know you'd be disappointed if you were here. I never meant for things to go like this," he concluded. He continued to sit quietly in front of the grave as he tried to pull himself together, staring absently at the grass.

Suddenly, a movement caught his eye and he looked up. A large red cardinal was perched on top of the stone. The red bird cocked his head at him. Ressler held his breath for a few moments, watching it, before the bird flew away towards a cluster of trees at the far of the cemetery. Ressler inhaled slowly and then got to his feet and dusted off his jeans. With one final glance at his father's headstone, he turned and made his way back to the car.

* * *

When he arrived back at his mother's house, he kept his head down and headed straight upstairs. A glance at his reflection in the car's rear view mirror had been enough for him to realize he looked like hell and he wanted to avoid seeing anyone if possible until he felt a little more collected. He was sitting on the edge of his bed, head resting in his hands, when he heard a soft tapping on the door.

"Don?" his mother asked softly. "Everything ok?"

"I'm fine, mom," he replied with a sigh. "Just give me a few minutes, ok?" He hoped his voice sounded less ragged than he felt.

Apparently not, because the door opened slowly and his mother's face peered around the edge. He turned his face away and looked down, embarrassed to have her see him in his current state.

"Mom, I said I was fine," he repeated irritably.

"I know what you said," Meg replied as she closed the door gently behind her. "And I know what I'm seeing in front of me." She crossed the room and cupped his chin in her hand, forcing him to meet her eyes.

"I'm not here to pressure you to talk, honey," she continued. "Unless you want to. I actually have a project I was hoping you could help me with."

"A project?" Ressler asked, puzzled and also relieved for the distraction.

Meg nodded. "When you feel up to it, come on down and I'll show you." She released his chin and headed for the door.

"I'll come now," he said. He brushed his hand across his eyes and got up and followed her down the stairs. His mother led him outside where the trunk of a fallen tree lay prone on the ground in the rear yard.

"We had a big storm a couple months ago that took this tree down," his mother explained. "Ed started chopping it up but he threw his back out and couldn't continue. Pete was going to help but then his health.." Her voice trailed off.

Ressler eyed the tree. "I'll do it. Where's the axe?" he asked as he rolled up his sleeves.

"It's in the shed. Thank you, sweetheart." His mother headed towards the simple shed in the corner of the yard to retrieve the axe.

For the next few hours, Ressler battled the tree. The wood split easily enough but it was hard work chopping and stacking and by the end of it his muscles were complaining and sweat was pouring down his face. But the rhythm of the blows was soothing and by the time he was done, he felt calm and focused. He didn't get to do much manual labor in DC and he'd forgotten how good it felt to work at something physical. When he was finished with the last log, he carefully replaced the axe in the shed and made his way into the house.

His mother looked up as he entered the kitchen and smiled. "You must be thirsty. That was a big job." She reached into the fridge and pulled out a pitcher of lemonade. She poured a glass, which Ressler accepted gratefully.

The cool liquid was a relief to his dry throat. "I'm happy to help. If there's anything else you need me to do while I'm here, just ask." He stared down at the glass for a moment. He felt collected and ready to speak in a way he hadn't earlier.

"I put the food on the flowers like you asked," he said.

Meg nodded. "Thank you. Did you have a nice chat with Dad?"

_How does she know?_ he wondered again. He nodded slowly. "Yeah. Funny thing, at the end of it, this bird came and landed on the stone and just stared at me. It was weird. It wasn't afraid. It acted like it knew me."

"Was it a cardinal?" Meg asked.

Ressler nodded. "Yeah, how'd you know? It was a big one."

Meg smiled. "They say that a visit from a cardinal is a visit from a loved one who has passed. Sounds to me like your dad was paying you a visit." She crossed over to Ressler and smoothed his sweaty hair away from his face.

"You really believe that?" Ressler asked.

"I do, sweetheart," his mother replied. "I've had one show up for me a few times when I've really needed it."

Ressler stared at her wordlessly for a moment and then got up and placed his glass carefully in the sink. "I better get cleaned up - what time are we due at Pete's?"

Ressler's mother glanced at the clock. "We're supposed to get there around 5. You have plenty of time. Go take a shower, get changed."

"Will do," he replied, his mind still on the large red bird. At the doorway, he turned back to his mother. "Thanks, mom," he said softly.


	4. Chapter 4

Ressler ran a hand through his damp hair as he jogged downstairs following his second shower of the day.

"I'll be right down," Meg called from her room. Ressler stepped out onto the porch to wait for his mother. The tire swing on the side of the house caught his eye and he jumped down the steps to go take a closer look. He tugged at the ropes, testing their strength as he glanced up at the tree branch above. He'd spent hours on the swing as a boy. All three of them had. Ressler smiled as he recalled Jack twisting the rope and then letting him go, leaving him to spin round and round and round until he was so dizzy he could barely stand.

"I bet that thing will still hold you," Ed's voice came from the porch. Ressler turned and saw his stepfather watching him.

"I don't know about that," Ressler replied as he squinted up at the branch once more.

"Go on, try it," Ed said. "I keep an eye on it for the young ones when they're here. Branch is strong, tree's healthy, rope's good."

Ressler raised an eyebrow at Ed but then shrugged and gingerly put one foot on the base of the tire and lifted himself up. Ed was right. The branch held steady without any creaking as the swing moved slowly back and forth.

"See, I told you. Solid," Ed smirked as he watched him. Ressler hopped down after a minute and patted the swing.

"You were right," he admitted. "I used to love this swing as a kid," he added wistfully.

Ed nodded in acknowledgment and then cleared his throat. "Thank you for taking care of that tree today," he said gruffly. "It's been needing to be done for a long time and I just haven't been up to it."

It was Ressler's turn to nod in acknowledgment. "Happy to help. You need anything else done around here, you let me know."

Just then Meg appeared behind Ed. She glanced from one to the other. "You ready to go?" she asked Ressler.

Ressler nodded and Meg stepped off the porch and headed towards his rental car. Ressler followed after her but then realized that Ed was still standing on the porch. "You coming?" he asked his stepfather.

Ed shook his head. "Nah, I'm gonna stay here tonight. You two enjoy yourselves." With a short wave, he turned and headed back into the house.

"Why isn't he coming?" Ressler asked his mother after they were settled in the car.

Meg smiled faintly. "Don't worry about Ed. He's perfectly happy to sit home and eat his leftovers in front of the TV with Roscoe."

Ressler glanced at his mother. "I hope he doesn't feel he needs to stay home on my account."

Meg shook her head. "He's fine. Now let's get going."

* * *

"It's good to see you, man," his brother said as he came up behind him and clapped Ressler on the shoulder. "Been too long." He slid a beer into Ressler's hand and clinked it against his own water glass. Pete wasn't drinking anymore since his surgery.

"Yeah, it has," Ressler replied. "Look, I'm really sorry I wasn't able to be here when you had your surgery. I wanted to be, I just..."

"Don't worry about that," Pete interjected. "I understand you've got a crazy job and you can't just drop everything and fly out here. Glad you're here now."

The stood on Pete's deck watching Pete's kids run around the backyard. Through the open kitchen window, Ressler could hear his mother and Amy chatting in the kitchen. All of them had welcomed him with open arms. The kids had treated him like a jungle gym, laughing and squealing with glee as he had tossed them in the air. "More, Uncle Donnie! More!" they'd screamed until Pete had finally shooed them out into the yard so their mother could finish preparing dinner.

Ressler glanced at Pete out of the corner of his eye. His brother was far thinner than he'd expected and he looked like he'd aged ten years since Ressler had seen him last. "How are you feeling?" he asked cautiously. "Any...complications?"

Pete shrugged. "I'm alive. Moving a lot slower than I used to, but the doc says that'll come back. Just got to take it one day at a time and be grateful it wasn't worse."

Ressler nodded. "I still can't believe it happened to you, of all people."

"Me either," Pete replied. "There really weren't any obvious warning signals. Just bad luck or bad genetics I guess, take your pick. You better make sure you keep an eye on yourself too, you know?"

Ressler shrugged. "Bureau makes us get regular physicals for field duty so I think I'm covered. Besides, I don't have people depending on me like you do." He took a long sip of his beer.

"Don't give me that whole nobody needs me crap, Donnie," Pete said quietly. "Mom misses you, you know, and so do I. She worries about you too."

Ressler swallowed the mouthful of beer and exhaled. "She shouldn't be worried about me."

Pete chuckled. "Try telling her that. Seriously though, you ever think about giving it up? Moving back home? Settling down? We'd all love to see more of you. You really want to be running all over the globe chasing big name criminals the rest of your life? Seems like a lonely and thankless job."

"Nights like tonight it's tempting," Ressler admitted as he watched Pete's kids play. "I don't know," he sighed. "It's hard to imagine walking away, you know?"

"I know, man," Pete replied. "You're like Jack and like Dad, a crusader. But does it make you happy? There's more to life than work, Donnie. At least there should be."

_Yes, there should be_ , Ressler thought as he inhaled the sweet scent of the grass and watched the kids play in the fading daylight. Would it have been different if Audrey had lived? Could he have given it all up?

"How long are you staying?" Pete asked, interrupting his thoughts. "Timmy would love to take Uncle Donnie fishing."

"Well, we'll have to make that happen then," Ressler replied as he took another sip of his beer. "Can't disappoint the little guy."

Pete chuckled. "Good. I'll swing by with them tomorrow afternoon?"

Ressler nodded. "Sounds good."

* * *

The evening passed quickly and eventually Amy announced that it was time for the kids to go to bed.

"I want Uncle Donnie to read me a story, please," the youngest, four-year-old Abby, clamored.

"Yes, please Daddy! Can he? Can he?" six-year-old Timmy chimed in. Pete arched an eyebrow at Ressler, who nodded.

"How can I refuse a request like that?" Ressler joked as he tucked Abby under his arm and tickled her. Her giggle was infectious.

Amy laughed. "Ok, but you all better get ready for bed quickly!" Ressler put Abby down and the three children scampered up the stairs to brush their teeth.

"Let's find a book," Amy said as Ressler followed her up the stairs. "Abby will want princesses but the boys would probably prefer something else."

"You're the boss," Ressler said as he followed her over to a bookcase. "Princesses, pirates, whatever you think they'd like."

Soon, Ressler found himself ensconced on one of the beds in his nephews' room. The eldest, eight-year old Jack, was on his left, Timmy on his right, and Abby curled up right on his lap. He glanced at the cover of the book and arched an eyebrow at Amy.

"Peter Pan, huh?"

Amy shrugged. "A little something for all of them. And you're the one who mentioned pirates!"

"So I did." For the next half hour, Ressler threw himself into voicing the characters in the story, and especially the diabolical Captain Hook. The kids snuggled against him and giggled periodically at his inflections.

"You're a good reader, Uncle Donnie," Jack, whispered when the story was over. Ressler smiled and glanced down to see that Abby was sound asleep against his chest.

"Are you going to come fishing with us tomorrow?" Timmy whispered earnestly.

"I think so, buddy," Ressler replied. "Your dad's gonna make the arrangements."

He swung his legs over the side of the bed and carefully stood up, Abby cradled in his arms. He could feel her warm breath tickling the side of his neck as her head lay against his shoulder.

"Get some sleep," he whispered to the two boys as he flipped the light switch next to the door. "Lots of fish to catch tomorrow." He made his way out into the hall where Amy met him and pointed him in the direction of Abby's room. He laid her down gently on the bed and watched from the doorway as her mother adjusted her pillow and smoothed her covers before turning out the light and closing the door behind her.

"The kids are really enjoying seeing you," Amy said as they made their way back downstairs. "You're so good with them."

"They're great kids," Ressler replied honestly as he followed her back to the kitchen.

"You seeing anyone?" Amy asked hopefully. "You'd make a great dad, you know."

Ressler swallowed hard. He'd never told his family about the pregnancy test he'd found in Audrey's bag after she was killed. No point in causing them any more pain than they'd already felt on his behalf.

"Nah, no time," he replied lightly. "Maybe someday."

"Well, don't wait too long," Amy teased. "You're not getting any younger!"

* * *

Later that night, Ressler lay awake in his bed staring at the ceiling. He'd almost forgotten how good it felt to do simple things like share a meal with family. Spending time with the kids had been even better. Maybe I _should_ walk away, he thought. _Find a job here in Michigan, buy a place in the country, try to settle down_. He tossed and turned on the bed and eventually drifted into a restless sleep.

The next morning, he woke near daybreak again and donned his shoes and shorts for another run. As he ran, Roscoe once more by his side, he eyed the countryside with renewed interest. He tried to imagine what it would it be like to settle down on one of the farms, far away from the craziness of Washington and Reddington. Suddenly, it didn't seem so difficult to picture.

After he showered, he headed down to the kitchen to join his mother for breakfast.

"What are your plans for the day?" she asked casually.

Ressler gripped his coffee cup tightly. "Thought I might drop by the cemetery again. Going fishing with Pete and the kids this afternoon."

His mother gave him a long look before responding. "They'll love that," she replied simply and he was grateful that she didn't press him on his desire to return to the cemetery.

When he arrived at his father's grave, he glanced around, hoping for a glimpse of the cardinal that had visited him the day before but there was no sign of the vibrant bird. With a sigh, he settled himself down on the ground once more. Slowly, he told his father about Audrey's pregnancy test and about his long battle with addiction that had followed her death. He talked about Reddington and some of the more notorious Blacklisters. Finally, he spoke about Liz and her decision to fake her death.

"I was angry at her at first, dad. I felt betrayed. And then I realized why she did it. She just wanted to give her daughter a normal life. She thought it was the only way. I realized I can't be mad about that. She was in an impossible situation. Now part of me feels like I have to help her get that normalcy. Like I can't walk away until she can."

As his voice trailed off, he saw a flash of red out of the corner of his eye and suddenly the cardinal was back, perched on the stone in front of him. Ressler hardly dared to move.

"Hey," he said to the bird. The bird cocked its head at him and moved its feet in a little dance on top of the stone.

"I wish I knew what you're trying to tell me, dad," Ressler mused as he stared at the bird. "Are you telling me to stay put and see it through? Or walk away?" He bowed his head and twisted a blade of grass between his fingers. "Part of me wants to give it all up, move back here near the family, and forget this whole Task Force and Reddington ever happened. The other part of me wants to go back and fight harder and better and make up for what I did." Ressler looked up and was surprised to see the cardinal was still perched on the stone, staring at him.

"If only you could talk," Ressler muttered. Eventually the bird flew away in a great soaring arc before settling in an upper branch of a nearby tree. Ressler squinted into the sun as he followed the bird's trajectory. He felt more at peace, whether from talking to the stone or the bird, he wasn't quite sure. He stood up and dusted himself off and made his way back to the car.

When he arrived back at the house, both his mother's car and Ed's car were gone. Ressler was about to head into the house when his eye once again caught the tire swing on the side of the house. With a quick glance around the empty yard he headed over to the swing and carefully climbed on top of it. He eyed the branch above him carefully as the swing began to move but Ed was right, the tree was solid and so were the ropes. Ressler closed his eyes and gave himself over to the rhythmic movement of the swing.

* * *

Later that afternoon, he stood with Pete and watched his niece and his nephews fish off the dock at a nearby lake.

"I haven't been fishing in years," he mused as he reached for another piece of bait.

Pete chuckled. "That's amazing when you consider how often dad used to take us and how much you loved it, then."

"I know," Ressler replied. "Lots things I used to love that I somehow never make time for anymore."

"If there's any good side to needing bypass at 40, it's that it's forced me to get my priorities straight," Pete replied. "Family comes first and work a distant second."

Ressler nodded. "I know. I need to work at that. The thing is..." his voice trailed off.

"What?" Pete asked.

"Nah, nevermind," Ressler replied...

"What were you going to say?" Pete persisted.

"I was gonna say...the people I work with. We're a small group, and they've become like a family of sorts, you know? Like my life is my job but my job is also my life. It's hard to imagine walking away from them as much as a life like this," he gestured out at the lake, "is really tempting."

Pete nodded. "I get that. But you gotta ask yourself too, where are you going to be in ten years? In twenty? You really want to spend the rest of your life alone? You never used to."

"I know," Ressler sighed. "I know." He kicked a pebble on the dock with his toe. "I wish I could tell you the half of the crazy I see on a daily basis. You wouldn't even believe."

"Uncle Donnie! Uncle Donnie! Come help!" Timmy called from further down the dock where he was struggling with his fishing rod. Ressler moved behind him and helped him reel in a large silvery fish.

"Nice job, Timmy!" Ressler exclaimed as he extracted the fish off the hook.

"Can we cook it? Can we eat it?" The boy asked, his eyes shining.

"You bet we can," Ressler replied with a chuckle.

* * *

Later that evening, after Pete and the kids had left, Ressler joined his mother on the porch. Roscoe was lying at her feet, snoring lightly.

"You going back to the cemetery tomorrow morning?" she asked.

"Maybe," Ressler replied slowly. "Why?"

"Just wondering," she replied as she rocked gently back and forth in one of the porch rockers. "Did you see the cardinal again?"

"Yeah," he replied. "It landed right in front of me this morning. Seemed fearless." He cleared his throat as he weighed whether to say more. "I wish it could talk," he added softly.

His mother stopped rocking and folded her hands in her lap. "I wish it could too, if it would give you some comfort. I also wish you felt like you could share whatever's bothering you with the living and not just with the dead."

Ressler swallowed hard. "I wish I could too, Mom. I just don't want to drag you into it." _And I don't want you to be disappointed in me_ , he thought to himself.

"I worry sometimes that you put your father on a pedestal and you're too hard on yourself because of it," his mother continued. Ressler arched an eyebrow as he waited for her to continue.

"You always had a very idealized version in your mind of who he was. And don't get me wrong, he was an incredible husband and father and he took his work very seriously and was very good at it. All those things were true. But he was a man also, Don, he wasn't perfect. You were too young to see that, I think."

"He fought for his principles, for what was right, and it got him killed," Ressler said, his voice rising. "You're not going to tell me that's not the truth." Roscoe lifted his head and whined softly.

"No, I'm not going to tell you that," his mother said as she patted Roscoe to soothe him. "But sometimes he let those principles blind him. He was so worried about doing the right thing that he didn't always see what was right in front of him."

"Are you saying he should've gone along with Markin? Looked the other way?" Ressler exclaimed.

"No, honey, I am not saying that. What I want you to understand is that your father made mistakes along the way. He did things he regretted later. He was human, honey, not superman."

"How much did he tell you about his work?" Ressler asked as he leaned back in the chair.

"Enough. Sometimes too much," his mother replied wistfully. "He'd come home at the end of a long day and sometimes he just couldn't sleep with all that had gone on. We'd sit up for hours while he relived it and tried to make peace with it. And towards the end, as he was questioning what to do about Markin..." She sighed. "That's why I worry so much about you being all alone. You need a support system with the job you have."

"I guess I'm not good at talking about things," Ressler said slowly. "Plus everything we do is classified, so I really can't."

"What about your partner? Elizabeth? Are you two close?" His mother asked. "I know you were before she did what she did but have you two patched things up?"

Ressler shrugged. "Sort of, I guess. She's kind of wrapped up in her own problems a lot of the time."

"That's a shame," his mother sighed. "Before everything went south in the end, your father's colleagues - his partner especially - they were his greatest support because they were living it right along with him."

They sat silently for a few minutes. "Did dad ever kill someone by accident?" Ressler asked hesitantly.

His mother stared at him for a moment. "Yes, he did," she replied evenly.

"Tell me," Ressler said.

Slowly, Ressler's mother told him the story. An accidental shooting of a teenage boy, the brother of one of the gang members involved in the drug trade. "He was just in the wrong place at the wrong time and it was all just a horrible mistake in the end. He never meant for it to happen," she finished.

"So what happened to dad?" Ressler asked, his throat suddenly dry. "I don't remember him ever being in any trouble."

"No, he wasn't," his mother said softly. "It was covered up, brushed under the rug. The work your father and Markin and the others were doing at the time, getting the gangs off the street, people higher up thought it was important so they covered it up. Made it seem like the boy was shot by a rival gang."

"And dad went along with this?" Ressler exclaimed.

"He didn't want to, at first," his mother replied. But the climate at the time in the city was very anti police. He knew that he stood no chance of a fair trial. His face would have been all over the newspapers and the TV. Putting him on trial would have eroded all the good work they were doing."

"How did he live with it afterwards?" Ressler asked quietly.

"It wasn't easy at first," his mother said. "He felt terribly guilty. He had nightmares. But eventually he made peace with it. He couldn't take back what he'd done even though it was an accident. He made it his purpose to work even harder and to do as much good as he could - including raising you three - so that his later actions would compensate in some way for the decision he made to go along with the coverup."

Meg glanced at him and then reached out and took his hand. "I want you to know that whatever happened, I will never think less of you for it, and neither would he. He'd understand."

Ressler gripped his mother's hand tightly and closed his eyes. "Thanks mom. That means a lot."


	5. Chapter 5

Ressler woke up and was surprised to find the sun streaming into the room on an angle that showed it was well past daybreak. He reached for his phone and was even more surprised to discover that it was after 9. He sat up and rubbed his hand across his eyes. He couldn't remember the last time he had slept past 7, much less 9. The house was quiet and a quick glance out the window showed that his mother's car was gone. He stretched, his back stiff from lying down so long, and debated whether to shower and get dressed. A loud rumble from his stomach convinced him to head downstairs first and shower later.

He arrived in the kitchen to find Ed sitting alone at the table reading the newspaper and sipping a mug of coffee. Ed glanced up and folded the newspaper when he saw him as Roscoe got up from his resting place at Ed's feet and came over for scratches.

"You slept in," Ed remarked matter-of-factly.

Ressler studied him for a moment, unsure how to respond, and then simply shrugged. "Yeah," he replied. "Where's mom?"

"She went to church," Ed replied. "She left you food though." Ed gestured towards a covered plate on the counter.

_Right, it's Sunday_ , Ressler thought. "She didn't have to do that," he replied as he reached for the plate. He peeked under the cover and was pleasantly surprised to see homemade waffles with sausage.

Ed shrugged. "You know your mother," he said simply. "Just pop 'em in to warm for a few minutes and they'll be good as new."

Ressler turned the oven to its lowest setting and placed the plate inside.

"There's coffee too if you want it," Ed said with a wave towards the pot.

"Thanks," Ressler replied. He poured himself a cup and added cream and took a sip. "It's good."

Ed nodded curtly and turned back to his newspaper. After a few minutes, Ressler retrieved his plate from the oven and settled into a chair at the table across from Ed. Ed folded his newspaper again and watched silently as Ressler devoured the food his mother had left for him. Finally, Ed broke the silence.

"Your mom's real happy you came home," Ed said slowly.

Ressler eyed his stepfather, trying to ascertain whether there was judgment in the statement, but he saw none. "I know. I feel bad it's been so long," he sighed. "I'll try to be better about it. Sometimes it's just really hard to get away."

Ed cleared his throat and looked uncomfortable. "Well, I just wanted to say that I'm glad you did and if I'm the reason you don't come around much, I'm sorry. I know I wasn't the best stepfather. The drinking had a lot to do with that, but that's no excuse. But your mother and I have moved past that and I hope someday you and I can too. She's already lost Jack and she nearly lost Pete this year. She needs you."

Ressler blinked, surprised, and twisted his coffee cup in his hands. Pete insisted that Ed had mellowed, but Ressler had found that hard to believe until now. After a moment, he nodded and then looked down at the mug. "I know she does. Being home these last couple of days has been great. I wish I could have come sooner, I really do." He hesitated a moment before continuing, "I also know what it's like to have an addiction now," he said softly. "I didn't back then. I got addicted to pain killers after I got shot a few years ago and I used them to numb the pain after Audrey…" his voice trailed off and he looked up to see Ed looking startled.

"I kicked the habit almost two years ago and I go to NA meetings now," he continued. "I never told mom."

Ed licked his lips. "Thank you for telling me," he replied slowly. "I had no idea."

Ressler hung his head. "I should tell mom. I just never wanted to disappoint her."

"She'd be more disappointed to think you felt you couldn't tell her," Ed replied. "You got to lean on your family during rough times. That's what family is for. We circle the wagons and we protect our own. But we can't help you if we don't know there's a problem."

Ressler nodded and fidgeted with his coffee cup again. It was strange to actually converse with Ed, but he felt a strange kinship with the man that he was not accustomed to feeling.

"You're a good man, Don," Ed continued gruffly, "And a fine agent I'm sure. Everybody makes mistakes."

Ressler bit his lip. "Maybe I used to be a good man, a good agent, but these days I'm not so sure." He stared off into the distance. Ed was quiet, waiting to hear what he had to say.

"I work with a high-level informant on a daily basis," Ressler said slowly. "I can't say much about him because everything we do is highly classified. But the more I work with this criminal the more I start to wonder who's really on the right side. This guy does some bad things, but somehow they start to feel justified because the people he's going after are far worse than he is. People the world thinks are good people, and they're not. Politicians... Sometimes I worry you and mom are gonna see my face on the news for all the wrong reasons though. I feel like I'm making enemies and sometimes it's hard to know what the right thing is to do." He looked up and met his stepfather's gaze. "It was easier when things were black and white," he added.

Ed pursed his lips. "I don't think the world was ever as black and white as you thought it was, Don, but I know this much. Your mother and father raised you right," he replied tersely. "I played no part in that. But they raised you right. So as long as you stick to your gut, you'll do fine in the end."

Ed pushed himself up from the table and put his mug in the sink as if to signal the end of their conversation. As he passed by Ressler he clapped him on the shoulder. "You'll do fine," he repeated.

* * *

Ressler had just stepped out of the shower when he heard his mother's voice downstairs and he quickly dressed and headed down to greet her. She smiled at the sight of him. "Ed says you slept in a bit - that's good," she said warmly. "Did you find your breakfast?"

"Yes, thanks mom," Ressler said as he kissed her lightly on the cheek. "You didn't need to do that."

"It was no trouble," Meg replied dismissively. "Now tell me what your plans are for today."

Ressler shrugged. "You tell me. I'll do whatever you want."

"No cemetery?" Meg asked carefully.

"Not today," Ressler replied, as he reached down to pet Roscoe who was pushing himself against his leg. "Thought I'd spend the day with you instead."

Meg's smile broadened. "That sounds lovely. I was going to work on the garden today. Do you think you could give me a hand?"

"I can give you two," Ressler chuckled as he extended his palms.

Two hours later, Ressler mopped sweat from his brow as he leaned on a shovel. He'd helped Meg clear a new section of the yard for a vegetable garden and she was busy planting seedlings in neat rows. His mind kept returning to his conversation with Ed over breakfast and as the hours passed, he felt increasingly guilty that he had shared things with Ed that he'd never told his mother. He couldn't explain why he felt it so difficult to tell her the truth. She'd never been a judgmental person. _But she'll worry_ , he thought. _But_ _she'd also be hurt you're keeping things from her_. He wrestled with his conscience for some time longer.

"I need to tell you something, mom," he managed eventually.

Meg crouched back on her heels and squinted up at him. "Go ahead," she said quietly. She put the trowel down and stood up and leaned against the fence, watching him.

Ressler licked his lips. He couldn't meet her eyes and he gazed out into the distance over the expanse of the yard.

"I was a drug addict, mom. Painkillers. I'm not using anymore. It started after I got shot and I used them more when Audrey died because I couldn't handle the pain." He swallowed hard. "I've been clean for almost two years, I go to meetings. I'm telling you this now because I should have told you then and maybe things wouldn't have gone as far as they did."

He turned his eyes toward her, expecting to see an expression of shock. Instead, Meg's expression was sad, but sympathetic. Meg walked over to him and wrapped her arms around him and he rested her head on his shoulder as she rubbed his back. They stood like that for a few minutes before Meg pulled back and rubbed his arms.

"I'm glad you told me and yes, I wish you had then. I wish I could have helped you. But I don't think that's why you told me now." Her expression was still soft, but her eyes were steely.

"What do you mean?" Ressler asked. Meg took his hands in hers.

"I think you told me now because you really want to tell me about the person you killed, and you're afraid to, either because you're ashamed or because you're afraid someday someone will question me about it. So instead you're talking to your father's gravestone about that, and you're only telling me about your past addiction because you think that's a safer subject."

Ressler felt a lump rise in his throat. He tried to pull his hands away but his mother held on tight. "Honey, stop trying to protect me," she said softly. "It's not going to do either of us any good." Meg let go of his hands and Ressler turned away and leaned against the garden fence with his back facing her, his head bowed.

"It's not that I'm ashamed," he began slowly. "I mean, maybe that was part of it when I first got here." He shook his head. "But that's not it now." He turned around to face Meg slowly and kicked the dirt with his boot. He folded his arms across his chest.

"It was a woman, mom," he looked at Meg but her face remained impassive, waiting for him to continue. "Someone much higher up the government food chain than me. She was a nasty, spiteful person who was a murderer herself and she made it clear she owned me. All I wanted to do was get away from her but she wouldn't let me leave. She grabbed my sleeve and held on and I shook her off. And I shook her off so hard she lost her balance and twisted in those damn high heels and she hit her head and she bled out in front of me."

"Sounds like it was an accident," Meg said softly.

Ressler nodded. "It was. But that's not the worst part." He blinked rapidly and stared down at the ground as he felt tears pooling in his eyes. "The worst part is, I didn't call it in. I didn't do what we're supposed to do, what we're trained to do. Instead, I called someone to hide the body and cover it up. A cleaner. Someone I knew about only because of the criminal informant I work with. And what I've spent the past few days wrestling with is why I did that. Was it just to protect myself? Or was it the right thing because it protects the work I do and the people I work with. That's what I can't seem to make peace with." He looked up at Meg, anguished. "I feel like I crossed a line and I don't know where to go from here. Where do I go from here, mom?"

He broke down as he felt his mother's arms wrap around him once more and he leaned into her embrace.

Eventually, Meg pulled back and smoothed his hair away from his face and cupped his cheek with her hand. "I can't tell you that. You're going to have to decide that for yourself. What's done is done, but I can tell you that running away from the problem won't make it go away. It's always going to be there and you're going to have to find a way to live with it."

Ressler sighed. "That's what I'm having a hard time seeing. How do I do that?"

Meg squeezed his hand. "You do that by picking yourself up, dusting yourself off and moving forward one step at a time. No crutches," she added pointedly.

"I'm sorry, mom," Ressler said softly. "I never meant for something like this to happen."

"Well of course, you didn't, sweetheart," his mother said. "And if you think for one minute that I think any differently of you than I did five minutes ago or an hour ago or a year ago then you're sorely mistaken. I love you and I am proud to have you as my son and I'm glad you finally told me what's going on."

Ressler closed his eyes and inhaled a deep shuddery breath. "Me too," he admitted quietly.

"Look," Meg whispered. Ressler opened his eyes and followed Meg's finger as she pointed across the yard. A large, red cardinal was perched on the corner post of the fence, watching them, its head cocked.

"Dad's glad too," Meg said softly. Ressler draped his arm around his mother's shoulders and they stood watching the bird as it flew off into the distance.

"Do any of your colleagues know what happened? Your partner?" Meg asked eventually.

Ressler shook his head. "No. I didn't tell anyone. I just came here."

"Do you plan to tell them?" Meg asked.

"I don't know," Ressler replied with a sigh. "You know if I tell them, they could and should have me arrested and charged."

Meg gave him a long look. "Do you really think they would do that under the circumstances?"

"I did it to Liz," he said quietly. "She'd have every right. On the other hand, I'm not sure I can work side by side with them every day, and especially Liz, without telling them."

"I'm sure you'll figure out the right thing to do," Meg said as she squeezed his hand. "And whatever that is, and whatever the consequences of it may be, know that I'm behind you one hundred percent."

"I love you, mom," Ressler said quietly.

"And I love you," Meg replied. "Never forget that, no matter how dark things seem. Now, we need to finish this work and get cleaned up. I invited Pete and Amy and the kids to come for dinner."

"Yes, ma'am," Ressler replied as he picked up his shovel once more.

* * *

"Higher, Uncle Donnie, higher!" Timmy shrieked as Ressler spun him on the tire swing. Abby watched, awestruck, as she waited her turn.

"I don't want to go that high," Abby said anxiously as she bit her lip.

"Don't worry sweetie, we'll make your ride nice and gentle," Ressler reassured her. He glanced at the porch where Pete and Amy were sitting with his mother. Ed had retreated back into the den after dinner as was apparently his habit, whether company was there or not. He reached up and slowed the swing so Timmy could get off and give Abby her turn. Jack had tired of the swing and was kicking a ball around the yard with Roscoe vigorously giving chase.

Ressler couldn't help but smile as he watched them all. He felt at peace for the first time since his arrival and he knew he had his mother to thank for that. Her forcing his confession had quite literally taken a load off his shoulders. After he'd finished their work in the garden, he'd gone up to take a shower and get cleaned up and he'd realized the time had come for him to head back to Washington and get back to reality. For now though, he intended to savor this final evening.

"My turn," a small voice said at his side. Ressler looked down to find Abby gazing at him earnestly.

"You're right, it is your turn," he replied with a chuckle. He helped Timmy slide off and then carefully lifted Abby up on top of the tire.

"I won't push you any higher than you want to go, ok, sweetie?" Ressler assured her solemnly.

"Ok," Abby replied nervously as she gripped the rope tightly.

Ressler pushed the swing very very gently and watched as Abby gradually began to relax.

"You want to go a little higher?" he asked her after a few minutes. Abby nodded.

Ressler pushed a little harder and watched a slow smile begin to creep onto Abby's face.

"Higher?" he asked with a grin. Abby nodded more vigorously.

Ressler pushed harder and then harder again. Soon the swing was arcing back and forth nearly as high as Timmy had wanted to go and Abby was giggling and laughing with a look of pure joy on her face.

Finally, Ressler slowed the swing and lifted a beaming Abby into his arms.

"I felt like I was flying, Uncle Donnie! Just like that bird!" Abby pointed to a large red cardinal perched on the railing of the porch.

Ressler caught Meg's gaze and smiled softly. "You were, sweetie, you were," he replied as he hugged Abby close.


	6. Chapter 6

"What time is your flight?" Ressler looked up from packing his bag to see his mother watching him from the doorway of his room.

"2:00," Ressler replied as he folded the last of his clothes into the bag. His eyes fell on the photo of his father and brothers on the desk.

"Would it bother you if I took that back with me to D.C.?" he asked, gesturing towards the frame.

Meg crossed the room and picked up the frame and smiled wistfully as she looked at the photo. "Of course not," she replied. "It's yours. Anything you want to take home from this room is yours."

"Thanks," Ressler replied as Meg handed him the frame and he tucked it carefully in between his shirts to pad it.

"Breakfast is almost ready," Meg said as she headed back towards the door. Ressler could smell the scent of bacon coming from the oven downstairs.

"I've probably gained ten pounds this weekend from your cooking," he chuckled as he patted his stomach.

"Oh I doubt that," Meg laughed. "And if you did, you needed to."

"Hey, mom?" Ressler asked. Meg paused in the doorway and turned expectantly.

"I was planning to make a final stop at the cemetery before I head out," Ressler said in a low voice, "I was hoping maybe you'd go with me this time?"

"Of course I will," Meg replied softly. "We can go right after breakfast and you'll still have time to come back here and get your things before you need to leave for the airport."

* * *

An hour later, Ressler stood, head bowed, before his father's grave, his mother holding his arm beside him.

"I remember his funeral like it was yesterday," Ressler said tightly. "The sea of police officers." He stared off into the distance. "Markin...we didn't know the truth then."

Meg squeezed his arm gently. "I know, honey. I miss him every day."

"Me too," Ressler admitted. He cleared his throat. "He's the reason I joined the Bureau."

Meg laughed softly. "Do you think I don't know that? You're so very much like him. I'm not sure you even realize how much you're like him."

Ressler smiled faintly but the smile faded quickly. "I just can't shake the thought he'd be disappointed in me. Of what I've done, who I've become."

Meg sighed. "Sweetheart, I can tell you over and over that I don't agree with that, but you're the one who has to make peace with it all in the end. Do you think you can do that? Do you think you can move forward, keep fighting, keep doing what you do?"

Ressler licked his lips and stared off into the distance. "I think I have to try," he said finally. "I decided last night I'm gonna come clean with Liz," he continued slowly. "Depending on how she reacts, maybe the others too. But I'm gonna tell her."

"That's good," Meg said softly. "There's only so much I can do for you from here. But you need to remember something else."

Ressler turned to look at his mother. "What's that?"

"You need to remember that your dad is here," Meg replied as she placed her hand over Ressler's heart and patted his chest gently. "Always. You don't have to come here and talk to a stone to talk to him because he's always with you wherever you find yourself."

Ressler nodded and leaned over to hug his mother.

* * *

Back at the house, he tossed his bag on the passenger seat of the rental car and bent down to scratch Roscoe's ears. He gave the house a final long look and then turned to Meg. "I'm gonna try to come home more often. Hopefully under better circumstances next time."

"I'd like that," Meg replied. "And if you want me to come to see you instead, you just say the word and I'll be there."

"I might take you up on that," Ressler chuckled. "But I'm serious, I'll try to get home for Christmas this year. I'd love to see Pete and the kids again and it's been far too long since we all had a holiday together."

Meg smiled and touched his cheek with her hand. "We'd all love that."

"I better get going," he said slowly.

"Call me when you get home," Meg replied. "Just so I know you got there safe, ok?"

"Will do," Ressler replied.

* * *

His flight home was uneventful although he felt himself growing more and more tense as the plane drew closer to D.C. It was after 5 by the time he stepped out of the airport and hailed a cab. He gave the driver his address and then leaned back and stared anxiously out the window as he drummed his fingers on his lap. Finally, he reached for his phone, glanced at the time, and then pressed Liz's number. She answered on the second ring.

"Hey, you back?" she asked.

"Yeah, I'm planning to come in tomorrow. Do me a favor and don't tell Cooper that yet though, ok?"

"Sure," Liz replied. "Everything ok? How's your family?"

"They're great," Ressler sighed. "Really great. Did I miss anything important?" He swallowed hard as he waited for her response.

"Not really," she replied slowly, after a slight pause. "Reddington's been gone since you left, so it's been pretty quiet. Just catching up on paperwork, mostly."

Ressler closed his eyes. He was afraid he was going to lose his nerve if he didn't talk to her sooner rather than later. "Listen, I uh - I got something I need to talk to you about. Any chance we could meet up somewhere?"

"Tonight?" she asked, surprised.

"Yeah. Look, if you can't do it, I know it's last minute and I totally get it." Ressler clenched and unclenched his hand in his lap.

"No, I can. I just need to stop home first, but I can come by your place later if you want. Like after 8?" Liz replied.

"Sure, great. That's great. Thank you," he replied as evenly as he could manage.

"Ok, I'll see you later," she replied.

"Yeah, later." Ressler ended the call and stared out the window. He swallowed hard as he caught his first glance at the D.C. skyline. _I wonder who Hitchin's replacement is gonna be_ , he thought to himself as his stomach shifted nervously.

* * *

When he arrived at his apartment, he called Meg to let her know that he was home and then removed the framed photo of his father and brothers from his bag and carefully placed it on the shelf next to the folded flag from his father's funeral. He poured himself a beer to calm his nerves and sat down on the couch to wait for Liz to arrive.

Shortly after 8, he heard a soft knock on the door. He put his now empty beer bottle down on the table and got up to open it.

"Hey, thanks for coming," he said as Liz brushed past him into the apartment. "You want a drink?" he asked.

Liz shook her head as she shrugged out of her jacket. "No, thanks. I'm good. But don't let me stop you," she said. Ressler nodded and headed into the kitchen to grab another beer. When he returned, Liz was standing in front of the bookcase, gazing at the photo he had just added.

"Is that your dad?" she asked as Ressler came and stood behind her.

"Yeah," he replied. "My dad, my two brothers and me. I'm the baby of the family," he added lightly.

"You look so happy," Liz replied wistfully. "Which one is the brother who was sick?"

Ressler turned and settled himself into a chair. "The middle one. The older one was killed in Iraq."

"Oh I'm sorry," Liz said and she turned and took the chair opposite him. "I didn't know."

"No reason why you would," Ressler replied. "Don't worry about it."

"You don't talk about your family much," Liz said. "Why is that?"

Ressler shrugged. "I don't know. I really don't."

"But you had a good trip?" Liz asked quizzically. "Everything's ok?" She looked concerned and Ressler realized that she had to be wondering why he had summoned her so suddenly.

"Yeah, my family's great. Really great, actually. Look, I know you have to be wondering why I asked you here..." his voice trailed off and he looked down at his hands, unable to meet her eyes. Liz waited quietly for him to continue.

Ressler took a deep breath. "I asked you to come here because...something happened before I left and..." his voice trailed off again and he felt his heart begin to hammer. He was having second thoughts about telling her. He looked up and saw nothing but concern on her face and he suddenly felt worse than ever. He didn't deserve her sympathy. He gripped the beer bottle tightly and closed his eyes.

"I came to the conclusion this weekend that I can't go back to work unless I tell you," he continued finally. "Laurel Hitchin didn't die in that car wreck...I killed her." He opened his eyes expecting to see a shocked look on Liz's face. Instead, he saw only deeper concern.

"What happened?" Liz asked gently. "Tell me what happened."

Slowly, Ressler told her the whole story. Laurel's mockery, his desperate desire to get away from her. How he'd pulled his arm away too fast, how she'd fallen. Finally, he told her about Prescott and the coverup. When he was finished he looked up and met her gaze miserably.

"Look, if you want me to turn myself in, I won't blame you," he said tightly. "It's what I deserve."

"I'm not going to tell you to do that," Liz replied firmly. "It wasn't your fault."

"Yes, it was," Ressler replied bitterly. "I can try to spin it in my own head that it wasn't, but it was. I hired a _cleaner_ , Liz. I'm no better than Reddington. We're supposed to _catch_ criminals, not become them."

Liz sighed. "You know what, I think I will take you up on that drink."

Ressler stared at her for a moment and then chuckled and made his way into the kitchen. "Beer? Wine? Whiskey?" he called as he opened the cabinet for a glass. "Beer's fine," Liz said.

Ressler returned to the living room and handed her the beer bottle before settling himself back into the chair.

"Is that why you went home? Because of Hitchin?" Liz asked quietly after accepting the drink.

Ressler licked his lips. "It was definitely part of it, I guess. I went to my dad's grave. I guess I was looking for some sort of absolution. I think the other part of me was afraid I'd get hauled off to jail and I'd never see them - my mom, my brother, his kids - again."

"This Prescott guy - he's the guy who handled Reven's body, right?" Liz asked.

Ressler nodded. "The same. He doesn't know I'm FBI - at least I don't think he does - but he might figure that out at some point."

"Does Red know what happened with Laurel?" Liz continued.

Ressler shook his head. "I don't know. I didn't tell him. But it wouldn't surprise me if he did."

Liz nodded slowly.

"What are you thinking?" he asked, seeing the pensive look on her face.

"I'm wondering if we shouldn't tell him. He might be able to help..." Liz began.

"I don't want his help. Not right now, anyway," Ressler interjected. "I did this - _I_ did this. I meant it when I said - if you think I should turn myself in tomorrow, I will."

"And I meant it when I said I wasn't going to tell you to do that," Liz replied, her eyes flashing. "Come on, Ressler. I know who Laurel Hitchin was. And more importantly, I know who _you_ are. You don't deserve to go to jail for this. Not for her."

"How can you say that after I hunted you?" he asked her miserably. "I didn't give you a chance, why should you give me one? Just because I was lucky that there were no witnesses?"

"Is that what this is really about?" Liz asked, "you're telling me the truth because you need to give me the chance to arrest you? Come on, Ressler, we're way past that."

"I still feel guilty," he replied tightly. "Especially now."

Liz put her beer down on the table and got up and came over to his chair. She crouched on the floor in front of him. "Look at me," she said firmly as she placed her hand on his knee.

Ressler lifted his head and met her eyes. "I'm not going to arrest you, I'm not going to report you, because you don't deserve that," Liz continued. You're a good cop, Ressler. And you know what? So am I. Have we made mistakes? Sure. Have we crossed lines? Absolutely. But you're not Red and you're never going to be. And neither am I..." Her eyes blazed as she said the last sentence. She held his gaze for a moment and then patted his knee and returned to her chair.

"Being at home this weekend, it made me really think - what am I doing? Should I still be doing this? Or should I pack it in and go home to Michigan and try to make a new life there," Ressler mused as he took a sip of his beer.

"Leave the FBI?" Liz replied. "No, you can't do that."

"You're right, I can't. Not right now, anyway," Ressler replied. "I realized that I can't walk away until you can. Until you and Agnes can have a normal life too. I know that's what you want Liz. So I'm gonna stick it out. Help Reddington finish that list. That's the only way I can see to make any of this right."

Ressler immediately noticed a change in Liz's demeanor as she bit her lip and blinked rapidly. "What's wrong?" he asked.

Liz took a deep breath. "I have something to tell you too that may change how you feel about that. Cooper ran a DNA test on an old blood sample that was held in evidence. Some old case he worked on thirty years ago. Sent it out to a private lab. Apparently, Raymond Reddington is my father." She sat back and waited for Ressler's reaction.

Ressler nearly choked on his beer. "You're kidding me, right?"

"I wish," Liz replied ruefully. "apparently I really am the devil's daughter. So...there may be no walking away for me. But that doesn't mean that you can't. As much as I want you to stay and be my partner, if that's what you need to do..."

Ressler swallowed hard, the shock of her news still processing. "Raymond Reddington is your...father?" he repeated in disbelief.

Liz nodded, her eyes scanning his face nervously.

"Wow," he said simply.

"I'll understand if you want to walk away," Liz said quietly. "It's a lot to ask for you to stay on, knowing this. Knowing what he's done."

Ressler pursed his lips. Finally, he shook his head. "I'm not going anywhere. I'm gonna see this through. For all our sakes."

"Thank you," Liz replied quietly. "That means a lot."

Ressler cast his eyes towards the photo on the shelf. "I became a cop because of my father," he said softly. "That's really why I went home. To get back to my roots, try to make some peace with what I've become. Maybe Reddington's not as bad as we think he is...he started off as a good guy...maybe something happened..." his voice trailed off.

"I hope so," Liz replied. "I hope there's some bigger purpose to all this that I'm just not seeing yet." She glanced at her watch. "I should get home. You coming in tomorrow?"

"Yeah," Ressler replied. "You think I should tell Cooper? And the others?"

Liz thought for a moment. "No, not yet. There may come a time when you need to, but not yet. There's been nothing so far tying this whole thing to you. I trust them but you never know...the fewer people who know about this the better."

"Do they know about Reddington?" Ressler asked.

"Only Cooper," Liz replied with a sigh. "But I think he plans to tell everyone. I think he was waiting until you were back."

Ressler nodded slowly. "Well - I'll pretend that it's news when I hear it."

"Thanks," Liz replied. She put her jacket back on and grabbed her purse. "See you tomorrow."

* * *

Ressler woke early the next morning surprised to discover that he had slept through the night. He went through his routine of showering and shaving and got dressed in his usual suit and tie. As he crossed his living room to leave a flash of red caught his eye. He paused and headed over to the sliding doors leading out to the balcony. On the railing was a large, red cardinal that cocked his head at the sight of him. Ressler grinned at the bird.

"Thanks, dad," he said softly. "For everything."


End file.
